The voice of the wind

I stood outside
one night
and listened.

I wasn’t listening for anything in particular.
But I stood still, just listening.

The wind was blowing. Not hard, quite gentle, actually.
So, I began to listen to it.

The sounds that transpired
so easily acquired
by the movement of each blade of grass

The leaves twittered and shook
and bumped against each other
But that was all it took

Twigs knocking arms
and whispers of bark
A bird or two awakened
by a falling branch

All these sounds,
these perfect movements
creating a perfect moment
for thoughts and for peace

It was then I realised
that the wind, by itself
had no voice.
It merely breathed upon others
for their voices to be heard.

So, I stood and waited,
for the wind to blow on me.

© The Drummer Poet
14/11/2012

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